"why should poems rhyme," he asked,
"life does not rhyme," he reasoned,
"and poetry is a painting of life," he shouted

words should rhyme, for poetry is the sublime fruit of life,
and fruit deserves color, not just a muted strife of grey
poetry should be rife with color

looking forward into my past
i see me climbing mountains
and scaling cliffs
traversing the seas and
doing things no man has done before

looking back into my future
i see me struggling to put word on paper
and slouching
being a slob and
doing things no man hasn't done before

is this my fate?
forever twisted in trysts of triumph and troubles
tempted with treasure but treated as a tool?

"we hold these truths to be self evident
that all men are created equal"
if all men are created equal
then how come

men were treated like property
always sunk into poverty
faced with such inequality
no chance for scholarly
credentials or a standing in the economy

never ever given a shot at success
stopped from owning business
or express themselves, when we try to influence
The zeitgeist of society, show signs of progress
nevertheless, we regress

the corners of the country still act like nothing has changed
generations raised on flawed principles, we need to update
and adapt to the new beat of the culture, stay sync with the tune
rhyme on the same rythym as everyone else
think different.

four of fifty people still reject me, call me a defect
because i'm an ugly splotch of paint in their reality
they call me a ******, a *****, their words reflect
their jealousy, fallacy in their faces
think different.

you wrote all these songs
and letters and plays and
all the words galore

you put your heart
and your soul into
these wishful thoughts

you put all your time and your effort into
a really roundabout way to tell me that
"i love you"

as i bumble thru the urban jungle, i take a trip
and theres a rumble and i stumble
my humility humbled, left grumbling
is there a holistic explanation for my troubles

"shove it" would be a brute's way to put it
jumble these words til they tumble
into places proper for bourgeoisie
(like me, like me, like me)

how can i say it, its like a monkey in a suit
or a duck in a fishbowl (most fowl)
a lout without a bout of scrumptious attent
i'm a person with respect, i should bow

but my humbled humility won't back down
now i'm in a jumble, i'm in trouble
will i get mugged will i get drugged
so i mutter: "pardon me, sir"

sweet finesse from heart fully realised
journey undertook and accomplished

to have reached another beginning
the jump off to eternity

happiness found in peacefulness
sunworshiping yellow tulips and daffodils

Spring come again slaking thirst
blue sky blue sea, the cries of seagulls.

boat floated thru the harbor alone
as boat did not need a band-aid

boat set sail for far away alone
for boat did not need a map

boat paddled thru the ocean alone
as boat did not need a helper

boat sunk into the sea alone
for boat had holes, and did not know where to go.